


Intertwined

by biswholocked



Series: JWP 2015 [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock's Coat, sunrise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunrise hits the Thames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day eleven of JWP. The prompt was "coat porn". Fluff, and a first kiss, because why not?

Sunrise hits the Thames and shatters into millions of diamonds upon the water. Two silhouettes stand upon a bridge, against the light; one is tall and shrouded in wool, the other is shorter and keeps his arms wrapped around himself for warmth. There is a question, and an answer.

“Why are we here?”

“Your hand was shaking after we left the interview room.”

John looks away. Sherlock watches him with sharp eyes. Steam floats out from John’s mouth as he exhales.

“What she did…”

“Yes.”

John turns his gaze back, locks it with Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s face is framed by his upturned coat collar; the contrast is striking. John feels the corner of his mouth turn up.

“Anyone else would have left.”

Sherlock regards him, steps closer until their arms brush together through fabric.

“I think it’s obvious,” he says slowly, “that you are not anyone else.”

John finds himself falling into poetry about Sherlock’s eyes, about the expressive eyebrows that rest above them, about the place where Sherlock’s coat touches his bared wrist.

“Do you think-”

“Of course,” Sherlock interrupts. His hand comes up to cup John’s cheek, pulls John closer even as he bends down. Their lips touch; John registers warmth and breath against his cheekbone, then loses himself in the kiss, gripping Sherlock’s lapel and memorising the feel of soft-and-scratchy wool beneath his fingers. Sherlock’s other hand covers his own, sliding his fingers into the spaces between John’s.

His. Mine. Ours.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/ con crit always welcome!


End file.
